


Two Girls Dancing (Like That)

by mischief_managed_7



Category: SKAM (Norway)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dance, Coming Out, Dance partners to lovers, F/F, Slow Burn, The whole squad is in their twenties and they're a mess, bisexual eva, lesbian noora
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2018-05-17
Packaged: 2019-04-30 18:35:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14503047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mischief_managed_7/pseuds/mischief_managed_7
Summary: Noora is a Norwegian dancer just back from Madrid and closeted lesbian. Eva is an up-and-coming choreographer and out bisexual desperate to find a dancer for her new sapphic work. They meet and it's the perfect match: Noora gets work and exposure, and Eva finally gets to bring her project to the stage. But soon, their ideologies diverge: where are they going with this work, and what do they owe to the world and the LGBT community when it goes viral? And as if those weren't complicated enough matters, there's also the question of where they're going as two women who may or may not be more than just dance partners, and what they owe to each other...Someone in the comments of this video (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8JMnidcDZLQ) where then girlfriends (now wives) Ellen Page and Emma Portner dance together thanked them for showing two girls dancing "like that" and it inspired this story.





	1. Could it be fate?

_Noora_

  
Two weeks since Noora had landed back in Norway, and she still wasn’t used to the cool spring weather. She cursed herself for not wearing a warmer jacket as a blast of cold wind hit her stepping off the tram. She’d wanted to seem cool – layering was in, warm jackets were out in Oslo – but that probably wouldn’t work anyway because in her two weeks back home she also hadn’t acclimated to her flatmate Eskild’s late night antics, meaning she’d only got three hours of sleep the night before and looked like crap. She sighed and a tiny cloud of air escaped from her parted red lips. Confidence, she reminded herself, it was all about confidence. Plastering a smile on her face, she walked up to the studio’s receptionist.

  
“Halla, I have a meeting with Eva Mohn,” she said, flashing her best polite grin.

  
“Well, I’m not that kind of receptionist – I usually just take phone calls from annoying dance parents – but I think Eva booked Studio 4, so you’ll probably find her there,” the receptionist answered, with a glint in her dark eyes.

  
Noora felt a blush creeping up into her cheeks. Great, she’d made a fool of herself in under a minute. She tried to suppress it as she apologized, “Right, sorry. Guess I’ll go find her then, thanks!”

  
She turned around, realized she had no idea where to go, and was about to turn back around to ask for directions, but the receptionist, who seemed to find this all hilarious, spoke first, “Second floor, third door down. You’re welcome. Oh, and tell Eva to turn off the heater when she’s done.”

  
“Thanks,” Noora repeated, taking another look at the amused receptionist before stepping into the elevator. Hopefully the meeting would run more smoothly, or she’d be unemployed still when she’d leave the building.

  
_Eva_

  
She was prepared for beautiful. She was prepared for the ice blue eyes and the pure Oslo accent. She had to be: she couldn’t let herself be thrown off by Noora Saetre when she was her last shot at bringing her project to the stage this summer. But what she was unprepared for was to see all this beauty and confidence right there in front of her in the studio where she’d taken her first ever dance class. And gotten her first kiss, she couldn’t help but remind herself. So Eva was a little bit thrown off. Still, she had to remain professional. So after having let the blonde in and introduced herself, she pointed to the table she’d set up in the middle of the room with what she hoped was a friendly smile and not a psychopathic grin.

  
“So, you’re back in Oslo?” she asked, beginning with small talk as she’d rehearsed over the weekend - except it had sounded a lot less stupid in the intimacy of her flat.

  
“Yes,” Noora answered, no doubt trying to think of ways to escape this awkward meeting already. Shit, she had to step up her game. But it was too late, they’d embarked on the small talk train, and now they’d have to ride it the whole damn way.

  
“How are you dealing with the Oslo cold? Must be a change from that Madrid sun,” she pressed on.

  
“Oh God, definitely, I haven’t stopped shivering since I got here!” she answered, still with a warm smile. So maybe things weren’t going that bad.

  
“Well, I’m glad I turned up the heat then,” Eva joked.

  
“About that,” Noora interjected, “The girl downstairs – the receptionist, I think? – asked you to turn it off when you leave.”

  
“Sana?” Eva asked.

  
“I guess.”

  
“Definitely her, some days I think she’s on a private mission to make all the school’s students freeze to death,” Eva laughed, “Her brother’s the new owner and she’s filling in until they find an actual receptionist. But she doesn’t quite have the tact, and she’s enforcing the cost cutting measures…stringently,” she explained.

  
“That explains it. Are you friends with her brother then?”

  
“Yes, Elias and I grew up dancing together in this very studio. You’re sitting in the spot where I did my very first pirouette,” she added with a nostalgic smile, but blushing as she thought once again about the first kiss which had also happened in a spot not far, “Anyway, I’m sure you’d like to hear more about the dance,” she hurriedly added.

  
“I’d love to! What I’ve heard so far sounds great.”

  
“Thank you. I viewed your audition tapes, and I really appreciate your style. I think you’d be a good fit.”

  
_Noora_

  
They had made it past the small talk. Thank God, there’s nothing Noora hated more. She hoped her tight smile throughout had seemed realistic enough. She turned her full attention to the choreographer as she launched into a more detailed explanation of the project that had lured Noora to this small studio in the North of Oslo.

  
“Simply put, it’s a contemporary piece about two women who love each other. I hope that was clear to you from the role description: they’re romantically involved, it’s intense and it will be quite clear to the audience that it’s not a friendship. If we do our job well, that is,” she added.

  
If the other girl hadn’t been looking so serious, Noora would have laughed. The project description, which an old friend had sent her, had been more than clear in her opinion. It was a love story, between two women, and it would not be PG. “Got it,” she nodded.

  
“Good,” Eva approved, “We’re on the same page then. One more thing, the project would involve two mediums: we would perform it on stage at several different events this summer, and it would be filmed. I’ve seen your videos, so I assume you’re comfortable in front of the camera, but I would just like to check if you’re okay with that.”

  
“That’s perfectly fine,” Noora answered quickly. It almost seemed like Eva was offering her the job on the spot, but she knew she had to remain cool and collected. It could still be that this was just the string of questions she asked every applicant.

  
“Alright, then I only have one other question for you: why do you want to be a part of this project?”

  
There were many reasons. The easiest one being that she needed money: life in Norway was expensive, and it had now been a full month since her last gig in Madrid. There was also several more complex but possibly more convincing ones. She could say it was because she saw herself in the project, and it would be true – although a bit hard to explain since she wasn’t exactly out in the dance world, or in any world for that matter. Or she could flatter the choreographer and say it was because she admired her work, which wouldn’t be a lie either. But Noora went for the almost honest one, “I decided to move away from Madrid about a month and a half ago, and two weeks later the last two years of my life were packed in four boxes and I’d handed in the key to my flat. I just felt like it was time to go home. On the same day I got in my car to drive back here, an old friend sent me your casting call. And this might seem crazy, but it felt like fate. I’d heard of you throughout the years, seen some of your work in festival after-movies and just floating around the internet and when I saw the description for this project I just thought – finally. Finally an opportunity to do more than just dance, a chance to do something real. So, here I am,” she finished.

  
Silence filled the room. The two young women held each other’s gaze for a second too long. A sort of electricity seemed to flow between the hazel and blue eyes. Maybe it _was_ fate, Noora caught herself thinking again.

  
_Eva_

  
Eva could almost feel Noora’s ice blue eyes piercing through her own brown ones. “Okay,” she finally said, without breaking eye contact, “Fate. Good a reason as any to audition. Do you have any questions for me?” she added, hoping to break the tension.

  
“Yes,” Noora answered, “Why are you doing this project? Why this? Why now?”

  
There was something of a challenge in the dancer’s question, and this time Eva glanced down at her hands on the fold-out table between them before answering. She shrugged, “It’s pretty much what you would expect. There was a girl, last summer, and long story short, we had a thing, but neither of us was ready and it ended. Abruptly.”

  
“I’m sorry,” Noora said quietly, and she seemed to mean it.

  
“It is what it is,” Eva said, finding her eyes for a split second again, “But anyway, after that I wanted to express this jumble of emotions in the best way I knew how – dance. Except there was almost nothing out there – no role, no music, no partner that could even come close to bringing all that crap inside of me to life.”

  
“So you made your own,” Noora finished for her, nodding along.

  
“Yeah,” Eva confirmed, taking in the other girl’s thoughtful expression. “So…are you in?” she finally asked, crossing her fingers underneath the table.

  
“Are you kidding?” the dancer exclaimed, “Of course!” Noora’s face lit up as she answered, her red lips parting to reveal a slightly crooked smile.

  
Eva couldn’t hide her sigh of relief, “Alright then,” she said with a grin, “Welcome aboard! Rehearsals start next week.”


	2. Why me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noora meets the squad and there's some honest discussions and mutual pining. I'm sticking with the slow burn for now, sorrynotsorry. Let's see how long I can keep it up...

_Noora_

Eva had sent her off with a contract she could take home before signing, a CD of the music they’d be using, and an invitation to a party her and her flatmate Chris were hosting that weekend. With the happy news in mind and the prospect of meeting some new friends (there was only so much hanging out with Eskild and Linn in the kollektivet one could do), the rest of the week went back in a blur. And before she knew it, Noora found herself in front of a non-descript building near the dance studio where she had met Eva, ringing the doorbell. An unknown voice answered telling her to come in without bothering to ask who she was, which Noora had to laugh at. She knew from some rumors she had heard (and some Instagram sleuthing) that Eva was something of a party girl, but she had expected this to be more lowkey – especially since it was only 8PM. It was going to be an interesting night.

 

_Eva_

It had been a long week of emailing festivals (and getting rejected, and emailing more festivals) and Eva was more than ready for the weekend. So she was already a glass and a half into the red wine when her new dance partner walked through the kitchen door, ushered in by Chris. “Noora!” she called out, emboldened by the alcohol, “You came!”

“Of course,” the blonde replied, giving her a quick hug. She somehow looked stunning in a laidback way, and Eva had to take another sip of her wine to keep herself from making an inappropriate comment (they were coworkers now, for God’s sake, she reminded herself).

Luckily, Chris interjected, “So, Noora, what do you drink? I’m afraid we’re fresh out of sangria,” she said with an exaggerated Spanish accent, “But we can offer you our premium supermarket brew or this grape juice Eva and Vilde are having,” she said, pointing at a crate of beers in the middle of the table and three open bottles of red wine next to it. Eva could have hugged her.

“I don’t drink,” Noora answered graciously. Eva almost spit her wine out. Fuck. Here she was drunk already and not even an hour into the party, and the one person here she had to impress was going to be stone cold sober throughout it all. Luckily, only Jonas seemed to notice her distress and was laughing at her quietly from across the table. She gave him the finger and the death glare once she saw Noora was otherwise engaged in conversation with Vilde, who was listing out the benefits of not drinking while sipping contentedly on her own glass of wine. Eva regretted inviting Noora for a second, but then it had to happen sooner or later. So what if her and her friends were complete messes of human beings? If the dancer was even a shred human, she probably was too. They were in their twenties after all. And with that, she tipped back the end of her glass and went off to change the music.

 

_Noora_

                Having been sober all her life, Noora was used to being the only clear minded individual in a sea of drunken idiots. Sometimes it was boring, but other times, the buzz seemed to reach her through some kind of osmosis. It was definitely one of those nights, and she hardly noticed the hours fly by as she was whisked from discussion to discussion by Eva’s boisterous group of friends. At the moment, she was sat on the couch between Isak – a fellow dancer, she’d gathered – and Sana the sarcastic receptionist as they debated the merits of basketball and ballet.

“Hva faen!” Isak exclaimed on her right, “Just because you have to handle a ball doesn’t make it harder, I lift people above my head,” he argued.

Sana rolled her eyes – a clearly perfected reaction – and retorted, “I’d be impressed if you threw them from the three point line.”

Both had good points, but in Noora’s opinion, they weren’t even comparable. Ballet, and dance in general, was more than a sport, it was an art. The difficulty didn’t only lie in turning on the tip of a toe or performing a perfect turn, the hardest part was to completely let go of reality and become someone else for the duration of a dance. She was about to say this when Eva appeared in front of her and offered her a hand.

“Come on,” the clearly tipsy choreographer said, “I invited you here to get to know you better, so you and me are going to have a chat.”

Noora accepted the hand and let the surprisingly strong girl pull her off the couch and guide her to the small balcony. Eva shooed a guy with wild, curly hair – Jonas? – and Isak’s boyfriend, Even, away and closed the sliding door behind them. The cold air and muffled music had a sobering effect and Noora was suddenly all too aware of Eva’s arm brushing against hers as they both leaned on the railing. It was electrifying, and had the effect of bringing back full force the feeling of attraction she’d felt between them on their first meeting. Bolstered by this feeling, she blurted out the question that had been bugging her all week. “Why me?” she asked.

Eva did not answer right away. Instead, she let the question hover in the air, leaving Noora to watch her little cloud of breath slowly evaporate in the cold night air. “Well,” she eventually started carefully, “I’ve seen you dance, and you’re good. Like, really good,” she said, giving Noora a small smile, “But, it’s also not like I had many girls lining up to dance with me,” she added, unable to suppress the note of bitterness in her voice.

Noora let go of a breath she didn’t know she had been holding. She was disappointed she realized, but that was stupid: what kind of answer had she expected? “Really?” she replied, “Why?”

“You know why,” Eva answered curtly, “Or at least you should be able to figure it out, and I should have too. I think I was just hoping it would be different. Especially after what Even and Isak did last year – I mean, they’re in the goddamn National Ballet, and people were calling it ‘groundbreaking’. But yeah, I should have known, it’s always different for girls. Still,” she said, shaking her head, “People acted so excited about it when it was just an idea, but I guess that’s 2018 for you: everyone is all for the idea of gay girls, but no one wants to see them as actual human beings, or God forbid _be_ them, even just on stage.”

“Yeah,” was all Noora could think of saying. Not because she didn’t agree, but because she just couldn’t think of what else to say.

She wasn’t aware of how long the silence was dragging on until the brunette broke it. “Sorry,” she apologized, covering her face with her hands, “I swear I’m not usually like this, I’m a little tipsy and…”

“No, it’s okay!” Noora cut her off, “Really, it’s fine. I just…I didn’t expect this from you, I guess?”

Which, again, was not a complete lie: yes, this was unexpected from Party Girl Eva, as seen on Instagram and gossiped about in the comments of YouTube videos, but it wasn’t from Choreographer Eva. And Noora knew quite a bit about her; she was the one who captivated her with her every move and every gaze, keeping her up well into the early hours of the morning, staring at her computer screen in her small Madrid flat.

As it was, Eva seemed to be self-aware. “Fair enough,” she answered, snorting, “I don’t exactly go out of my way to show this side of me. It’s just easier that way. Or at least it was. But at some point, it’s just too much, you know?”

“Yes,” Noora answered, feeling her chest tighten, “I do.”

 

_Eva_

“I swear there was something,” Eva repeated to Chris for the third time the next morning, “I mean, I know she’s not out, but come on, do you know many straight girls who would have auditioned for the part?”

They had been attempting to clean up the wreckage of the night before, but instead were both lying on the couch, doing their best to ignore the mess around them. Passing her back the leftover bag of chips they were emptying, Chris answered the same thing she’d said both times before, “All I know is, she’s a pretty girl and you want her to be gay. I do too, she’s funny – did you hear her clap back at Magnus last night? I think his jaw is permanently dislocated – and she’s nice and a fucking good dancer.”

“But?” Eva pressed on.

“But God loves to tempt us with straight girls, and even if she is gay, you’re coworkers so you should really let me do the flirting,” she finished.

“I hate you,” Eva said, throwing a pillow at her face.

“I know,” Chris answered, throwing it back, “Do you want eggs for breakfast?”

“Yeah, do we have any?”

“No, Magnus broke all of them trying to get a water bottle out of the fridge.”

Eva groaned and rolled of the couch, “I swear next time we won’t invite him.”

“We didn’t invite him this time, or the last time, or the one before – he’s just part of the deal, unless you want to stop inviting Isak and Jonas, too. Plus he’s the only one who can keep up with me at karaoke, so he stays.”

“Ugh, I could do without Jonas too honestly. He kept giving me these looks last night.”

“So hook up with him instead of your new dance partner, God knows he’d totally be willing to do it all over again,” Chris joked, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

“Yeah, no way,” Eva said, grabbing her jacket from a chair, “I’m going to get eggs, and you’re going to stop suggesting I get back together with my high school boyfriend for the millionth time.” Chris responded with kissing noises, and Eva had to hold in her laugh until she was out the door. Sometimes, she swore Chris was the only thing keeping her grounded and sane. And even if she was dead wrong about Jonas (Eva had been down that particular road way too many times already), maybe she had a point about Noora. There were plenty of fish in the sea, she reminded herself as a pretty girl held the door of the grocery store open and smiled at her, and she didn’t have to work with them for the next six month.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love the idea of Chris and Eva as flatmates, they'd have so much fun and throw the best parties. Hope none of this feels too out of character. So far I have one other chapter written, and there should be about six or seven in total.
> 
> Comment to tell me what you think and find me @breakthebeam on Tumblr (I've started watching the Austin remake if anyone wants to talk about it).


	3. Shrimp and avocado salad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First rehearsal and lunch, slow burn still going strong.

_Noora_

Again, she’d barely been able to sleep the previous night. But it wasn’t because of one of Eskild’s conquests this time – today was her and Eva’s first rehearsal. So when it had become obvious sleep was going to continue eluding her, around 5 AM, Noora had decided to go for a run. The morning cold had woken her up (a stop at the kaffebrineret had helped too) and she had gotten to the studio an hour early. Thankfully, Sana had been the one manning the front desk still, and she had let her in without asking too many questions. She was at the end of her warm up doing ronds the jambe and trying to focus on her turn out when Eva had walked in, absent mindedly whistling the tune they would be dancing to.

“Hi!” Noora called out brightly, putting her leg back down on the ground.

Eva started a little at the sound of her voice and pulled out her earphones, “Halla,” she answered, with a tight-lipped smile. Setting down her bag near the door, she walked towards Noora’s spot at the barre while pulling her elbow behind her head to stretch out her shoulders, “You ready for this?” she asked.

“Yes,” Noora answered confidently.

“Okay, good,” Eva said, clapping her hands together, “Well, looks like you’re warmed up a bit, but I’m not ready to go yet, so…”

She left the words hanging in the air, and for a second Noora saw beyond the façade Eva had put up so far, that made her seem like she was more than sure about this project, no matter the reception that might await it.

“Should we do a barre warm up?” she stepped in.

“Sure,” Eva agreed. She pulled her phone out of her back and went to hook it up to the speakers at the corner of the room. It crackled to life and music that had accompanied both girls through their childhood and into early adulthood filled the room. In a single motion, they took their places one behind another and grabbed hold of the worn out barre. As the choreographer led the way through a series of plies and releves in different positions, Noora let muscle memory take over and focused instead on watching the other girl move. She was graceful and bold, moving every part of her body deliberately and without hesitation. If in real life she often looked restless and distracted, there she was completely present.

“Alright,” Eva announced after a good ten minutes of plies and battements in every position, “I think we’re ready to go.” She fiddled with the speaker again and the music Noora had learned to know over the last week replaced the classical soundtrack. The deep and calming voice of the French singer washed over her once again. She had looked up the lyrics after the first two listens, to understand what exactly it was about, and it was the perfect song choice. In the next two hours they made their way through the choreography, playing around with it just to see how it felt. They would be presenting three dances in total, this was only the first one, which they would use as an audition piece for the festivals they were applying to this summer. The tempo was not too fast but it was an emotional piece and the first full run through, even though it was marked and not full out, left Noora feeling exhausted. As soon as Eva had let her down from the last lift and the last note had sounded, she sat down on the wooden floor with a sigh.

“Out of shape, are we?” Eva teased, breathing hard herself.

“Nei!” Noora answered, “Just giving it my everything, you know.”

Eva laughed at the cheeky answer, taking  sip of water and turning her phone on. “So, are you busy right now?”

“I was going to go do some groceries on my way back, but other than that, no. Why?”

“Well, I had a lunch reservation with my mother, but she’s bailing. Again. It’s booked though and she’ll pay to apologize, so I’m still going. Want to join?”

Absent parent throwing money around as means of soothing – Noora could definitely relate. She had been planning on having lunch at home and doing some unpacking, plus she felt bad letting Eva’s mother pay, even out of guilt, but still, it was a good occasion to get to know her boss _cum_ dance partner better. “Sure!” she answered after this quiet deliberation, “Are you going home to change first?”

“No,” answered Eva, pulling on her thick coat and wrapping a yellow scarf several times around her neck, “We can go like this.”

Noora was glad she had remembered to bring a warmer coat this time as she walked alongside Eva to the tram stop under the late morning sun. It was a perfect winter day, probably one of the last of the year, with the end of March fast approaching. She watched as Eva’s laughter to one of her comments created small clouds of breath, particularly visible against the clear blue skies. The tram slowed down to a stop in front of them, and Eva guided her in a hand on the small of her back, “After you,” she said with a smile. Noora couldn’t stop the touch from sending a delicious shiver up her spine. It felt silly, since only minutes earlier they had been dancing together, their bodies moving in intimate unison, but this was different. She held on to the feeling the whole ride as their tight-clad legs brushed against each other all too frequently.  


The restaurant was small, hidden in plain sight on an unfrequented street a bit outside of the city center. The first thing she spotted was the name, imprinted in large white cursive letters on the bay windows facing the street and letting in plenty of light, in contrast with the dark interior of wooden panels and grey brick walls. Even the seats were armchairs of rich brown leather. The whole place gave off a twentieth century British private library vibe which Noora would never have pegged Eva as the type to like. But the choreographer looked right at home, greeting the waitress at the entrance with a warm kiss on the cheek. Another waiter ushered them quickly to a small table for two between the brick chimney and the large windows.

“Your favorite,” he announced, pointing the table to Eva and pulling out her chair.

“Thank you, Martin,” she said warmly.

The waiter nodded and deposited two menus on their table before reciting the day’s specials.

“I’ll give you ladies some more time to make a choice, just wave me over when you’re ready to order.”

“Will do,” Eva answered. Noora could only nod, slightly stunned by the appearance of the restaurant and the dancer’s apparent ease in this unexpected environment.

When Martin left, Eva turned to her and giggled, “So, I guess this is probably not what you were expecting from me when I said we’d have lunch. But I swear there’s a good explanation! My grandmother used to bring me here every Saturday for lunch after my ballet class. That’s why we didn’t need to change – I’m not even sure they would recognize me here without dance clothes on,” she joked, “My grandmother passed away a few years ago, when I was in my last year at Nissen. She and I were pretty close, she used to take care of me a lot when I was younger, and she was always the one who encouraged my dancing the most. Actually, she chose to come her in particular because she thought the classical music they play would help what I learned in class stick in my brain or something. Anyway, now Mama and I try to come at least once a month, but I end her alone more often than not. So it means a lot that you came today,” she finished, smiling at Noora.

“Wow,” Noora responded, taking in her surroundings with renewed appreciation, “That’s definitely a good explanation. And she would have been proud of you, a soon-to-be-renowned choreographer and all.”

“Cheers to that,” said Eva, raising her glass of water and clinking it with Noora’s.

 

_Eva_

Both girls picked up their menus, Eva flipping right past the food section and on to drinks. Usually, her mother and her ordered a small pitcher of red wine, necessary for both of them to get through a meal together without going at each other’s throats. But today, they could bring back her old favorite instead, one of the restaurant’s homemade fruit lemonades. Meanwhile, Noora was taking her time examining each option.

“What would you recommend?” she finally asked Eva.

“I’d love to give you some advice, but I’ve had the same dish every time for the past eighteen, so I’m afraid I won’t be much help,” she apologized.

“Oh,” Noora said with a raised eyebrow, “You live up to your stubbornness don’t you? So what is this very special and beloved meal?”

“Shrimp and avocado salad with lemon dressing. It’s technically not on the menu anymore, but they have all the ingredients so they still make it for me every time,” she added sheepishly, “I think it’s their tribute to my grandmother. She always said the fish soup was delicious though, and it comes with toast, so you could try that.”

“Alright, I’ll give it a try then!”

“Great,” said Eva, “And if that’s alright with you, I’ll order us some of the homemade strawberry lemonade, it’s delicious.”

***

And delicious it all was, Eva thought as she sat back with a contented sigh after the last bite of her salad. She was aware that none of this was high cuisine, probably nothing Noora (who according to her Instagram must be a great cook) couldn’t whip up in the kitchen. But still, something the crispy shrimp, fresh avocado and tangy dressing always hit the right spot.

“So, enlighten me: why did you, at six years old, decide to become a shrimp salad aficionado for life?” Noora asked in between two bites of her remaining piece of toast.

“Simple, it sounded grown up. We had had a family gathering the weekend before and Mama had refused to let me try the cocktail shrimps, insisting they were for adults. So when my grandmother brought me here and told me I could order whatever dish I wanted, of course I had to have the shrimp,” she explained with a mischievous grin.

Noora laughed at earnest and pushed on, “But why have it every time after that?”

“When I got home, I told Mama I’d had shrimp for lunch and she said, ‘Great, now you must know you don’t like them, so you won’t ask to try them again’. Apparently she underestimated just how stubborn I was because I had the salad again the next week, and the next, and the next – just to prove I did, indeed, like shrimp.”

“And did you?”

“Nope,” Eva answered, laughing at the memory, “Not for the first six months at least, then I grew to actually enjoy them. But I guess my mother didn’t learn her lesson, because the exact same thing happened again when I started drinking.”

Noora laughed along to the dark humor politely, but her eyes weren't quite meeting Eva's. She hoped she hadn't offended her, since she knew the dancer didn't drink.

"Anyway, dessert?" she asked, brushing the previous subject off the table. 

"Sure," Noora answered, but the easy-going vibe that Eva had felt between them earlier had suddenly broken, and the conversation between them dwindled back to small talk until they left. On her way home, Eva couldn't help but feel disappointed - things had been going so well - and she wondered if Noora had felt it too. Who knows, maybe she was just being paranoid. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed, wrote most of this while sitting in a cool cafe that inspired the look of the restaurant. I finish my exams today so the next chapters should start coming quicker!
> 
> As always, find me @breakthebeam on Tumblr.

**Author's Note:**

> So, I have about half another chapter written for this, but I have finals so it might be a while until I update. Let me know if I should keep writing though! 
> 
> Find me on tumblr @breakthebeam


End file.
